


Pour Some Sugar On Me

by DawnOfTomorrow



Series: Sugar Me Good [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Age Swap, Deception, Drunk Yuuri has no chill, M/M, Tags Contain Spoilers, Technically consensual but lies are involved, Underage sex but not rape, Victor Nikiforov is Extra, Yuuri and Victor are kinky, dancer yuuri, feelings are hard, skater Victor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2019-10-08 14:19:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17387942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DawnOfTomorrow/pseuds/DawnOfTomorrow
Summary: Reverse sugar daddy AU - Yuuri wakes up after a night of too much booze and finds himself bombarded with outrageous, expensive gifts that somehow manage to also be extremely thoughtful and match what he likes. At 28, and thinking of himself as ordinary, he thinks that's a bit unusual, creepy even. His roommate Phichit thinks he should roll with it.Yuuri tries to turn the other man down, he really does, but using erotic pictures of himself to do so somehow doesn't work? To be fair, Phichit told him as much. Before long, there are lots of feelings, and more than a bit of sex, but always in dark rooms, in hotels. At first, Yuuri doesn't care - he's not going there for the decor after all, and the sex is glorious.Eventually, he realises he wants to get to know the man he knew first as 'V', then as Vitya, but he can't seem to do so. As he grows more desperate, he puts up an ultimatum... and then his whole world shatters.





	Pour Some Sugar On Me

**Author's Note:**

> This story features an underage character engaging in consensual sex with a much older man. Victor is 16, Yuuri 28. Yuuri is NOT any kind of paedophile, he just doesn't know, and Victor goes through a lot of effort to hide it - in Yuuri's defense, most people probably wouldn't assume it was a teenager if they were gifted a watch worth over 10k. There are minor descriptions of (kinky) sexual encounters, however, none after Yuuri learns the truth.
> 
> The story ends on a semi-happy note here, but the overall plot will be resolved in a sequel.

Yuuri Katsuki was a simple man, really. He didn’t ask for much in life, and what he already had, he was happy with. Really, all the 28-year old would change, given a choice was his tragic love-life. He had everything else – a fun job, great friends, interesting hobbies.

Then again, being single wasn’t the end of the world, even if his sister sometimes made it sound that way – only a few years younger, Mari wasted no opportunity to tell him he needed to settle down with kids and soon.

Between working as a dance instructor and occasional physical therapist in a local dance studio and his other sport-related hobbies, it was surprisingly difficult to meet people – though his perpetual shyness probably also had something to do with that.

Despite that particular hindrance though, it wasn’t unusual for his best friend and roommate to drag Yuuri out on a Saturday night to go for drinks. Drunk Yuuri was nothing like sober Yuuri – he ‘knew how to party’ according to Phichit, and thus his friend encouraged that state in the hopes of Yuuri meeting someone that way.

It wasn’t… the best plan, but in lieu of a better one, he went along with it every few weeks anyway. Most recently, LAST night – the evidence of that could be found in the pounding pain behind his temples, the nausea in his gut and the fact that the shirt he was wearing wasn’t his own.

Yuuri hadn’t owned a shirt that nice in his entire LIFE.

Carefully prying it off he changed into what Phichit dubbed his hangover clothes – really just an old university shirt and overly baggy sweatpants because they were familiar and comfortable and who would hungover Yuuri try to impress anyway? The toilet bowl? Hardly.

He found himself in the bathroom, relieved that for once he didn’t actually feel sick enough to have to throw up. His memory didn’t get off as easily as his stomach though – after taking two shots of some strange pink liquid with Phichit, he remembered absolutely nothing.

Phichit still asleep – or rather passed out messily – in his own room, Yuuri brushed his teeth and was about to dig through the fridge for left-overs when someone rings the door-bell. Not expecting anyone, he slugged over to the door – a delivery.

“Sign here.” The deliveryman instructed before thrusting a parcel and letter into his hands and walking off. Yuuri was left a little stunned – both were addressed to him, but he didn’t remember ordering anything. Shuddering at the idea that he may have bought or express-shipped something last night, he anxiously tore into the box, only to find a well-packaged bottle of whiskey – the kind he’d have to mortgage his parents’ onsen to buy.

Setting the two-thousand bottle of whiskey down gingerly, he reached for the letter – printed on high-quality stock, the kind that felt velvety in his fingers – he had to read the message twice to understand it.

Printed in dark blue ink and signed only with an elaborately drawn ‘V’ was a message that made absolutely no sense to his mind.

‘My dearest Yuuri,

You seemed to enjoy licking this off my skin last night – I certainly enjoyed you doing that – so I thought you might like another taste, even if it’s without me there.

Enjoy darling,  
V’

His first reaction was relief that he HADN’T spent two months’ rent on alcohol, his second was deep terror – he’d apparently LICKED someone the night before and this person had his address?

He stumbled into Phichit’s room, practically shaking the Thai man awake. Only a few years younger than Yuuri, the other man usually held his alcohol better than Yuuri, but he only needed to take one look at his face in order to know that that morning… he didn’t.

Watching Phichit stumble into the bathroom only reaffirmed his fears – for once in their life, Phichit had gotten more drunk than him. “Do you remember last night?” He asked his friend when he finally returned, looking a little less green in the face.

“Nope. Why?” He wordlessly pointed at the bottle of whiskey on the table and Phichit let out a low whistle. “That’s some quality stuff.” “Apparently it’s a gift.” “From?” “From someone I met last night who, and I quote, ‘enjoyed me licking it off their skin last night’.”

When Phichit stared at him in complete disbelief, Yuuri handed him the letter. Like Yuuri, he reads it several times. “So… who’s V?” “I don’t know, but clearly they have more money than sense?” “So, did you get yourself a sugar mommy? Or a sugar daddy?” “NOT funny, Phichit! God, I don’t even know if it was a woman or a man?”

Yuuri was bisexual, so sadly, he couldn’t even narrow it down based on that. “Shall we open it?” Phichit asked, to Yuuri’s annoyance. “No! Of course not! I have to return it to whoever this V is!”

Phichit studied the packaging. “This was sent with a private courier. No return address. Don’t think you can return it, Yuuri.” “But… I can’t just…” “You could sell it?” That idea had at least some merit – he was stable, financially, but it would go a long way in helping him save for a ticket to go see his family.

Something flickered behind his eyes – not quite a memory, not quite a sensation, but the feeling of velvet skin against his tongue. “I think I’m keeping it. NOT to drink.” Phichit stared at him for a few moments. “Did you… remember something?” “I’m not sure. I just… I’m keeping it.”

That was the end of the whole thing, as far as Yuuri was concerned – indeed, Phichit let it go, too distracted by his own hangover to care much anyway. The bottle was carefully put back into its packaging and that was put on top of his perfectly reasonable wardrobe – adorned with a shirt that wasn’t his.

He sighed. Drunk Yuuri really had done it that time.

* * *

 

Two days later, another package arrived just as Yuuri got home from work. He signed for it, trepidation already settling into his stomach as he did so – once again, a package and a letter. This package was significantly lighter, but also bigger.

Carrying both items inside, he set them down and opened the package first – it contained a box – cardboard, but clearly very expensive. Lifting the lid carefully, he came face to face with a logo he didn’t recognise, along with the word ‘chocolatier’. Well then – chocolates.

Indeed, under the satin paper sheet with the logo lay several dozen pralines, in different flavours – a stock card described the different kinds to be found in the box. Most of the different kinds seemed to be coffee flavoured one way or another, and not a single one held caramel.

This was significant to Yuuri for two reasons – he absolutely loved coffee-flavoured chocolates and he absolutely hated that most variety packs came with caramel in them somewhere. Did this person… know his preferences? That was a strange thing to mention in a drunk conversation that apparently ended – or began? – in him licking someone.

Fingers trembling, he reached for the letter.

‘My dearest Yuuri,

I hope you enjoyed my last gift. I found myself thinking of you again and thought this time I would pay homage to how sweet I found you when we were together. I hope you enjoy these as much as I enjoyed you.

Enjoy darling,  
V’

Yuuri reached for one of the chocolates blindly and bit into it, only to moan in unrestrained delight – they were sublime. Quickly, he closed the box after setting two more out and put it away with the whiskey.

Eating another, he saved the last for Phichit when he’d come home. Almost on a whim, he decided to look up the name of the shop the chocolates came from. He nearly whimpered in pain – doing a bit of maths based on the amount in his box, he was pretty sure the chocolates cost nearly as much as the alcohol had.

* * *

 

“Oh my god, Yuuri, is that real fur?” “I don’t… I’m not sure? I HOPE not!” He stared down at the white throw he had pulled from the latest package. It was without a doubt the softest and most amazing thing he’d ever felt against his skin.

Three more days had passed since the chocolates had arrived, and once again Yuuri reached for the letter next, curious what ‘V’ had said this time.

‘My dearest Yuuri,

I find myself wondering – are my gifts unwelcome? I realise I never gave you a way to contact me in return, so please find my number enclosed. If I am indeed bothering you, if you have a lover or are simply not interested, please don’t hesitate to tell me and I shan’t bother you again.

Until I hear from you, I hope you enjoy the throw – it’s a high-quality synthetic, the most realistic replication of arctic fox fur in the world. I would not send you real fur – I know you care about animals as much as I do.

Sincerely yours,  
V’

“This is the longest note so far.” Yuuri quietly observed, his fingers stroking the throw, relieved that it wasn’t fur after all. He’d have hated to throw it out. “Who even says ‘shan’t’?” Phichit asked, frowning at the letter. In the envelope, Yuuri found another, smaller piece of paper, with a phone number written on it.

It was obviously hand-written, unlike the letter. He saved it into his phone before Phichit even had a chance to protest. “Are you going to tell him to stop?” “Him? Are we sure it’s a him then?”

Phichit shrugged. “Not conclusively but whiskey, chocolate and fake fur? I feel like that’s what a gay man would send, not a woman.” He silently agreed – especially given that the shirt hanging in his wardrobe belonged to a man of similar stature to himself.

“I suppose I should tell… him to stop. He shouldn’t waste money on me like this.” “It’s his money to waste.” “Phichit!” His friend laughed. “Well, here’s someone who wants to shower you in luxury gifts because of one evening. I don’t see the downside to it.”

“What if at some point he expects… something in return?” “Would that be so bad? This person clearly knows you… somehow. Or at least some things about you. They care enough to choose gifts you’ll like and not one of the notes so far suggested anything about reciprocating.”

“This is how stalker-movies begin, Phichit. The ones that end with heads in boxes.” His friend snickered. “Or maybe there’s a rich person that wants to spoil you. Not everything that happens is bad. Good things happen.”

‘Not to me, not like this.’ He doesn’t say because Phichit would just roll his eyes and tell him he was hot enough to have a sugar daddy of some kind. Fingers running over the fur, he closed his eyes, just for a moment, and another almost memory flashed through his mind – his fingers touching something almost as soft, but grey not white… hair.

He blinked his eyes open, shaken, momentarily, by how… real the memory felt. “Yuuri? You okay?” “I need a favour, Phichit. Come with me.” “Uhh… sure?”

Grabbing the fake fur, Yuuri practically stalked into his bedroom, cleaning spare pillows and blankets off his bed and straightening out the sheet – it was black, the perfect choice. He threw the fur on the bed and determinedly started unbuttoning his shirt.

“Uh, buddy, what kind of favour are we talking here?” Phichit asked, eyeing him a little warily. “I want you to take a few photos of me.” “Okay, sure, and then…?” “Then I’m going to send them to this person and tell them to stop.”

“You… are going to send them nude photos of you and then tell them to stop sending you things? That’s a mixed message if I ever saw one.” Yuuri pressed his lips together as he shimmied out of his pants.

“I’d feel bad not… giving at least something back. I want to let V know I appreciated the gifts and that’s that. Grab the boxes from the cupboard please.” Phichit did as instructed while Yuuri stripped down to his boxers before pulling the strange shirt he’d woken up in on, not buttoning it.

Arranging himself on the bed, he draped the fake fur over his body in such a way to create the illusion that he was naked from the waist down, and carefully set the open box of chocolates in front of him, a few of them already gone from both his and Phichit’s night-time luxury cravings.

“Hm, I have an idea, wait a second.” Phichit dashed off and came back a few moments later with a tub of hair gel – his, not Yuuri’s. With a few practiced moves, he slicked back Yuuri’s hair except for a few loose strands. “Better. What about the booze?”

Unopened as the bottle was, he gave the unbroken seal a quick wipe and then wrapped his lips around the head of the bottle, tilting it up as if he were drinking directly from it. Phichit happily snapped photos, fully complete with inappropriate comments about him ‘working it’.

The bottle was soon put away again and Yuuri ate a few of the chocolates, having Phichit take photos of them in his fingers and between his lips. That done, he had Phichit send him the pictures before deliberately making sure that he deleted them from his phone after that – Yuuri wasn’t stupid.

He knew they’d find their way SOMEWHERE they didn’t belong otherwise. Phichit’s pout only confirmed the man had had… plans.

Yuuri made quick work of adding the best few shots to a message to the mysterious V. It was short, direct and said everything he needed it to say.

‘Dear V,

As you can see, I appreciated your gifts very much. That said, although I do not have a lover, I am not interested in the kind of arrangement I assume you are looking for.

Yuuri’

He sent the message and for a few seconds, he felt really good about himself – he’d been clear, had thanked the man, told him to stop… and he’d also sent him what were essentially glorified nudes. What had he DONE?

Yuuri called in to work sick the next morning and spent the day in bed with expensive chocolates, cheap pizza and the deep-seated fear that his pictures were going to be on the Internet soon.

* * *

 

The next package came four days later, just when Yuuri had assumed that they would stop. He felt a little sick while signing for the delivery – this would be where, in those stalker-movies, the gifts would turn nasty.

Yuuri blinked down in surprise at the single red rose within the package, placed next to a slim black notebook. Instead of opening it, he opened the letter next.

‘My dearest Yuuri,

I apologise if I gave you the impression that I expected anything in return for my gifts – I absolutely did and do not. Quite the opposite, actually – they were my thanks to you, for a magical night. Now I am even further in your debt, I’m afraid – those pictures you sent me have been keeping me awake at night.

I found myself wanting to return the gesture as best as I could – although I could never hope to match your beauty, I still hope you enjoy my response even a fraction as much as I enjoyed yours.

Faithfully yours,  
V’

Clearly, his rejection hadn’t been clear enough. He wasn’t sure if he should even look at the black notebook – there was still every chance that its contents would be… less than pleasant.

He barely hesitated before reaching for it.

The first page was bare, the second held what looked to be a kiss-mark – made by a wide, slim mouth wearing red lip-stick. He turned the page to find a photo. It was the first of a whole series.

The very first one showed a bed – not like his, not at all. Huge, in the centre of a luxurious room held in white and blue. The bed itself had white sheets – on the bed, facing away from the camera sat a person, long silver hair parted and hanging over their shoulders. The only visible thing the person was ‘wearing’ was a throw of black fur to cover themselves – identical to his own save for the colour.

Yuuri had been less aroused by actual porn than he was by the photo of a person whose gender he couldn’t definitively make out. The slender frame, long hair all suggested female but… something in him was sure that it was a man after all.

Gulping, he turned the page.

On the next one the man – it was a man, his bare chest proved – was laying on his back, throw over his privates and a trickle of amber liquid on his abs and stomach. Next to him laid an empty bottle of whiskey – the same as his own. The photo cut off just above his pale pink nipples and underneath it, written in blue ink, was simply ‘Remember?’.

The man had beautiful penmanship, at least.

The next photo showed the same man again, silver hair hanging down to cover his face as he laid on a bed, arms folded under his shoulders, hips high up in the air behind him, the throw covering him… barely. The picture was so obviously sexual despite not being explicit that Yuuri couldn’t help blushing.

The fourth one was less selective in what it showed – the man laid stretched out on the same bed, on his stomach, throw covering him from mid-thigh to mid-back, hair half-braided over his shoulder. It had to hang to about mid-back and Yuuri realised with startling clarity that it was this man’s hair he had remembered touching when he had received that throw.

It was absolutely stunning. He wanted to run his hands through it again. He quickly turned the page, only to groan at the next photo – where the others had shown the man undressed and with just a throw, the next one had him with a shirt – Yuuri’s shirt. The cheap, stiff material looked like an insult on what he almost-remembered to be spectacularly soft skin.

The man’s face was hidden by his arm and hair, but he was fully facing the camera, wearing nothing but Yuuri’s unbuttoned shirt. The picture was staged well – despite the throw not being anywhere in sight, a corner of Yuuri’s shirt was falling just so to hide his cock – a cock Yuuri suddenly found himself VERY interested in.

The rest of the man’s body was flawless – lithe, muscled and defined without a gram of fat. He wasn’t a dancer, Yuuri could tell, but probably some kind of athlete or model at least. He mentally patted drunk Yuuri on the back – at least he had good taste.

Yuuri turned the page.

Spectacular taste.

He was on the second to last page – the photo there had him on all fours, facing away, the photo shot from behind. Once again, it was just Yuuri’s shirt that was covering his rear, with one elegant hand – he noticed the long, graceful fingers – clasping the spot where his ass and thigh joined, pressing into his own flesh just so.

Shivering, he quickly turned to the last photo. It too had writing next to it, the handwriting slightly less steady. ‘This moment haunts my dreams.’ Yuuri gasped – if the alcohol hadn’t wiped his mind clean of the memory, he was sure he’d be right there with the man, dreaming of it.

Where all the others had been taken by what looked like a professional, the last one was completely different. It wasn’t in the bedroom and the man wasn’t alone in it either. There, in the picture, was Yuuri, along with him.

More specifically, the mystery man was sitting, wearing nothing but a pair of what looked like grey slacks, on a barstool. Sitting was perhaps a polite term – his legs were spread into a perfect split, each foot on another bar stool, and in between his legs was Yuuri, half on his knees, his face apparently pressed to the other man’s stomach – his head was too high up for anything else, thank god.

One of his hands was clasping the other man’s thigh, the other was stretched up, pressing his head back and thus out of view, keeping his back arched to a point that couldn’t have been comfortable with the bar digging into his back. Other than the two of them though, the place they were in seemed empty – it certainly wasn’t the busy club they’d gone to before.

Yuuri studied the photo again, hoping for more of a clue as to what was happening. The picture itself gave nothing away as such, but his mind had details to supply for once – he remembered how V’s thigh had felt under his hand, how the man had moaned obscenely when Yuuri had licked some whiskey from his abs. He’d reached up to muffle him…

He groaned quietly – he remembered thrusting three fingers into his mouth, forcing him backwards into that pose and shutting him up at the same time. He remembered a whimper against his fingers, that thigh shuddering, goose-bumps on pale skin…

Yuuri couldn’t remember his face. Cursing softly, he closed his eyes, trying to remember more… but while his body was happy to supply details about how the other man had felt, his skin, his hair, the burn of alcohol between his tongue and the other’s chest, he had no visuals beyond what was in the notebook.

Phichit found him, bent over the notebook and still cursing quietly nearly half an hour later.

* * *

 

“Are you going to reject him again? Maybe without the softcore porn this time?”

He glared at his friend. “It wasn’t porn.” “I took it. I was there. It was pretty hot. You’re also evading my question here.” He really was – what choice did he have?

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.” “I’ve told you before, roll with it. I mean, I’ve seen the photos, that guy is spectacularly hot. You’d have to be blind NOT to want him.” He sighed – there was no point pretending he didn’t. “Yes, his body is spectacular by why hide his face? It’s clearly deliberate.”

“So what, you think he’s ugly?” Yuuri shook his head. “I know he’s not. I can’t remember his face, but I remember liking it.” “Then what’s the problem?” “Well, what am I supposed to do? Just accept gifts? For how long? Do I reciprocate? Do I… meet him?”

Phichit snorted. “You’re overthinking this. Nobody has mentioned meetings, or anything other than gifts. Just roll with it. Let it happen. Enjoy it. You and I both know you’ve already enjoyed his photos. Thin walls.”

Groaning, blush hidden behind his hands, Yuuri closed his eyes – Phichit was right of course, he’d gotten himself off to the photos multiple times, and yes, he was absolutely ashamed of it. The fact that he could sometimes almost taste that whiskey again, however, meant that he’d keep doing it.

“Look, it’s fine. Clearly, what you did to the poor man messed him up good and if he wants to keep reliving it, why shouldn’t you? If you… want to send more photos or something, do it. I don’t think he means you any harm. So, again, stop thinking, just enjoy it.”

That night, he texted V’s number again – his second ever message. ‘You’re breath-taking.’ It read – he didn’t know what else to say.

* * *

 

The reply to his text was delivered to Yuuri’s door less than 24 hours later. He signed for it, less apprehensive than before, and eagerly ripped the packaging open. There were two things inside it, along with the letter he had come to expect.

The first was… a plush-poodle? He pulled it out, studied it. It was, indeed, a stuffed poodle toy. It looked achingly familiar too – the size, the colour, it was a perfect match for the dog he’d had as a kid. His little boy had been gone for several years already, but his heart still squeezed painfully when he thought of him.

The toy poodle had no tag – custom-made, Yuuri realised.

The second thing in the box was technically poodle-themed as well… it was an iPhone case. It was made for the latest model, released only a mere few days ago. The only reason he knew with such certainty was that the case, blue with darker blue poodles on it, fit that phone was that it was ON said phone.

He pulled out the clearly factory-new phone – plastic film still attached. Switching it on, he found it to indeed be completely new – never turned on at all.

Yuuri opened the letter.

‘My dearest Yuuri,

I can only hope my photos had even a fraction of the effect yours had on me. I still wake with the feeling of your fingers on my tongue, of your tongue on my body. Dare I hope you have dreamed of me too?

I saw, when we were together, that your phone was quite old and took the liberty of getting you a new one. I saw your background picture too – the little doggie in the package is as close an approximation as I could manage. I hope you like him.

Devotedly yours,  
V’

Yuuri squeezed the stuffed toy all the while tapping through the setup of the new phone, quickly putting his sim-card into the new phone. He wasn’t surprised when the phone was open to all networks and took his sim without issue.

Sim in, he quickly pulled up the camera and arranged himself as best as he could – he sat on the couch, curled up, the toy sitting on his chest, and snapped a quick selfie of himself, smiling at the camera. He sent it to V quickly, no message attached.

He actually received a reply to it, the first message he got back. ‘<3’ it read. Well then.

* * *

 

The next package took a little over a week to arrive – it was small, light. Phichit signed for it, handing it to Yuuri when he got home from work. Opening it, he found… a medal?

He pulled it out. Attached to a red, white and blue band, the heavy gold glittered in the bright light of the apartment. The engraving on it – the only engraving, strangely enough – he expected a discipline or a name – was a symbol he knew, a symbol everyone knew.

The Olympic rings.

Yuuri did the math – the Sochi Olympics had concluded mere days ago. He practically tore his way into his letter.

‘My dearest Yuuri,

I won this the other day… since I performed for you, even though I know you weren’t watching, I think you should have it. It’s only right, after all.

Devotedly yours,  
V’

He whimpered, waving Phichit over almost frantically.

“Wow! I can’t believe your sugar daddy is an OLYMPIAN, Yuuri! Congrats!” Yuuri’s head was spinning. “But… what? I can’t just… what? How can an Olympian want me so badly he’d give me his medal? And what is it even in?”

Phichit hummed, studying it. “Normally they engrave it after the ceremonies… since this one isn’t, your boy probably asked them to keep it that way. He probably wanted to preserve his identity.”

“But… I could find him by watching the Olympics, right?” Phichit gave him a long look. “Well, I suppose you could? There are dozens of disciplines spread out over several days, but I reckon not too many silver-haired athletes are among them. If you wanted, you could find him.”

He frowned. “If I wanted?” “Well, he’s keeping his name from you for a reason. Maybe it’s a good one. Maybe you should… respect that reason. What you have now, it’s fun right? You like it?” Yuuri gave a small nod – he knew he shouldn’t, but he DID like it, liked the attention, the lavish affections.

“Well then, don’t rock the boat. Maybe he’ll reveal himself. Or… if you want to know, make him tell you.” His head shot up. He DID want to know – wanted a face to go with the thoughts that haunted him nearly every day.

“Make him?” “Oh Yuuri, my poor boy. You’ve sent him photos already, right? Well, send him… better ones.” “You mean nudes? Phichit, no.”

His friend only chuckled. “No, not at all. You’re a dancer. Dance for him. Send him a photo of you doing stuff, wearing the medal. Tease him, play with him until he comes crawling to you.” Yuuri wanted to protest – he wasn’t a tease, a flirt, he didn’t DO things like that… except he had, hadn’t he? He HAD teased the other, with his first pictures.

“Let’s do this.” Phichit high-fived him.

* * *

 

The first photo he took was a simple one – Yuuri stood in a perfect arabesque, extended as far as he could – quite far, if he dared say so himself. Wearing a black practice outfit, the only accessory he wore was the man’s gold medal, making sure it glinted on his chest as he held still for Phichit to take a photo.

The second one had a similar theme, but he took it himself. Careful not to get his phone wet, he’d stripped down, stepped into the shower, gotten himself wet, then turned the water hot enough for a bit of steam to rise and he had once again put the gold medal around his neck.

The photo ended up quite good – it cut off at the hip, the gold glistening just above his abs, head thrown back in what he thought looked like a believable imitation of a shower.

The third photo was his favourite – it was also the simplest, one he took on a whim. Holding the medal with two fingers, he stuck out his tongue to lick the side of it, photo taken mid-lick.

All that taken care of, he sent the three photos, once again without a message, and stashed away the medal with the still unopened bottle of whiskey. It was bizarre – his two most expensive possessions, one of them priceless – sat in a cardboard box on top of his cupboard.

He went to bed smiling that night, eager for V’s reaction.

He didn’t have to wait long.

* * *

 

A little less than two days later – not that Yuuri was counting – he received several things at once. Carrying a small tower of parcels to his room, he sent them tumbling down on the bed and picked a random one to start with.

He nearly whimpered at the sight of the luxury watch contained inside. It was beautiful – a sleek black design with a dark blue inlay and white watch-hands. It allowed for two separate time-zones to be set – he immediately adjusted it for Detroit and the smaller one for his home-town.

Idly wondering if V somehow… knew, he stared at the watch on his wrist. He’d expected the fourteen-thousand-dollar watch – and dear GOD, he regretted even looking up the price – to look stupid on his wrist because he was just… well, just Yuuri, but it didn’t.

It looked elegant, like it belonged. A little in awe, he reached for the letter, deciding that after the shock of the watch, he needed to see the message first.

‘My beloved Yuuri,

Every time I think I managed to get a handle on my desire for you, you do something new to blow me away. It feels like you are leading me in a dance, one I don’t know the steps to, powerless to do anything but move with you.

Is it selfish of me to wish to dance with you again? I’m not asking, I just… want.

Today’s gifts are a little different – they are not what I imagine you would like but what I would like you to have, to wear, to use, given a choice. I really am a selfish man. Won’t you forgive me, Yuuri?

Devotedly yours,  
V’

He gulped as he set the letter down and picked up the next box. A set of cufflinks – diamond cufflinks, to be precise. Yuuri didn’t own a single shirt nice enough to even be worth touching the silver studs. They were simple, elegant, eye-catching. He had never had an interest in that sort of thing before, and suddenly found himself wishing for a better wardrobe, something to match the cuffs.

The next package held something unexpected – pointe shoes. Black ones, to be precise. They were his size, but it wasn’t that that surprised him – it was the fact that he knew the label inside them – Mariinsky ballet. The St. Petersburg ballet was easily one of the most famous in the world. However had his admirer gotten his hands on them? He gingerly set them down, looking forward to the blisters and bruises breaking them in would get him, for once.

The second to last package held something even more unexpected – another pair of shoes, though these were far less practical. Black, strappy leather stared back at him. Heels. His… well, whatever V was, had bought him HEELS. For women, clearly, though they were his size. He pulled them on, finding them to fit perfectly.

It took him a few minutes to find his balance on them. Truthfully, Yuuri didn’t see the appeal, not at all, but he was pretty sure he understood the message anyway, tentative as though it was. He studied the shoes for a long while before putting them back in the box.

He sent the man a text before even looking at the last package. ‘I’d like to send you a return gift. What address should I send it to?’

The reply was quick. ‘I’ll send a courier. Tell me when, I’ll have it picked up. <3’

Yuuri had mostly been thinking of sending the man flowers, possibly more photos or something of the sort – at least until he opened the last package. The lengths of black rope, neatly folded inside, were obvious enough in meaning. Bondage.

For a moment, Yuuri was scared – for all that he’d done some questionable things when drunk, he’d never let himself be tied up by anyone, didn’t think he wanted it, nor that he’d like it.

Then, another realisation struck him – the photos V had sent him, they all had him in relatively… submissive positions. The man never so much as outright asked things of him, and the photo of them together he’d sent, had clearly shown Yuuri in control.

It made sense – he relaxed a fraction. That, at least he could do. Had done it before, actually, and enjoyed it. He knew exactly what he’d send the other man.

Yuuri spent an unreasonable amount of money on the black leather collar. It was stunning though, when it arrived the next day – thank god for express shipping – soft to the touch but still stiff, the golden buckle and D-ring a stark contrast to the black material.

His mouth practically watered at the thought of seeing it around V’s neck. ‘I have something for you.’ He texted the man, fifteen minutes later, he received a text informing him a courier would be by within the hour.

Indeed, forty-seven minutes later, a package containing the black rope and the collar was travelling to an unknown destination. Yuuri taught his dance-class wearing his new watch that day, enjoying the glint of it on his wrist every time he moved under the bright studio lights.

* * *

 

After his last class was over, Yuuri got ready to go home like always when he received a text from V – unexpected, to say the least.

‘There’s a cab outside. I’ll do anything, just please get into it.’

Yuuri hastily texted Phichit he’d be late and practically sprinted out of the studio. The so-called ‘cab’ turned out to be more of an estate car, one with a suit-clad driver that opened the door for him.

Inside the car sat a bottle of champagne with a glass already poured and a hand-written note next to it. He knew the blue ink, the pretty penmanship. He noticed that the bottle was actually a little over half-empty. ‘Share a drink with me?’ the note read.

Yuuri drank down the first glass in one gulp, savouring the next few as they drove, the driver not speaking a single word the entire time they travelled. For nearly forty minutes they drove, the champagne emptying quickly, soothing Yuuri’s jittery nerves.

By the time they pulled up to their destination, Yuuri was not quite buzzed, just less nervous – accepting what he recognised as a hotel key-card from the driver, he made his way up the stairs to the entrance of, well, a hotel.

There was a floor number written on it – the 17th floor. It turned out to be the penthouse, but then, Yuuri wasn’t really surprised. He knew what he’d been asked, of course, with that message. The invitation was obvious. It wasn’t a difficult decision – he’d wanted the man since he’d seen the photos, since that night that still taunted him, unable to recall a single thing from it.

When the elevator doors opened Yuuri found himself faced with a single door, card reader beside it. He barely hesitated, scanning the card and yanking open the door, cursing how eager he was.

The hotel room seemed empty at first, nobody in sight… then he spotted a closed door, the only closed one in sight. He approached it slowly, wondering if it was the right thing to do – his gut said yes.

So, he found himself pressing down the door-handle, door swinging inwards, into the room.

Inside, he found perhaps the most breath-taking sight he’d ever been lucky enough to witness. The room was half-dark, lit up by candles placed around the edges, on furniture, far away from the bed, free-standing in the middle of the room.

On said bed, kneeling, his hands fisted on his thighs, dressed in slacks and in a white shirt sat the most stunning man he’d ever seen. Yuuri was surprised to find that he had done nothing to obscure his face. He’d half-expected a mask, a blind-fold of some sort, but no.

His expression a mix of relief and arousal, hunger even, he stared at Yuuri, frozen in the door, the candle-light giving him a sort of inhuman, ageless beauty.

Awkwardly closing the door behind himself, Yuuri studied him – high cheekbones, a straight, slim nose, a thin, plump mouth… and eyes so blue, so piercing, Yuuri felt like they might see down into his soul.

He knew without a doubt that it had been his eyes that had attracted his drunken self to the man, not that the rest of him was any less spectacular. Silver hair, the colour even more accented by the flickering low-light, pale skin he knew to be flawless…

It was his throat that broke Yuuri’s composure.

Neatly buckled, along with the rest of his outfit, V wore the collar Yuuri had sent him. He licked his lips eagerly, his legs carrying him to the bed of their own volition. Ice blue eyes followed his every movement, greedily drinking it all in.

It was startlingly obvious the other wanted him – Yuuri wasn’t used to being wanted like that. It felt… good. “Hello, beautiful.” He said, his voice lower than usual, surprising them both. “Oh god, Yuuri, you really came…”

The man’s voice had an accent – unexpected but pleasant, a soft undertone that sounded Eastern European. He wanted that voice to scream his name.

“Did you think I wouldn’t?” The other man shuddered, hips shifting just a bit. “I… I wasn’t sure, if you’d want me. If… my gifts had been too forward.” Yuuri chuckled. “Oh, they were way over the top. Especially the watch – a year’s rent is less than that thing.”

“You’re wearing it.” “Of course I am, it’s stunning. Thank you for it.” The other man nodded, a small smile on his lips. “You don’t have to thank me… I told you, I’m just trying to show you my affection.”

Mesmerized, Yuuri reached out and lightly placed a finger on the collar, not yet touching his skin, just the leather. The man’s breath hitched – Yuuri realised with a start that he didn’t know his name. Was he supposed to?

“What would you like me to call you?” He mumbled, hoping the other wouldn’t be offended. Blue eyes fluttered shut, and a low whine escaped his throat. “Vitya, I want you to call me Vitya.”

Hiding his relief, he turned his face away a little – he had a name now, at the very least. It wasn’t one he’d ever heard before, but then again, that hardly mattered. Vitya… he could work with that. “Yuuri… are you going to stand there and stare all night?” Laughing breathlessly, he slipped his finger into the collar and tugged, just a bit.

“You’re beautiful. So what if I want to stare?” “You… you never answered me, my letter. Do you sometimes… remember that night? Tell me you dream of it like I do.” With a growl, Yuuri practically hopped onto the bed, kneeling between Vitya’s legs, his knees brushing the other man’s thighs.

“You mean, do I remember the way you quivered under my tongue or how much sweeter the whiskey tasted from your skin? The way my fingers felt on your thighs?” He asked, turning himself on as much as his partner if the quiet sob was anything to go by.

Vitya’s composure broke first. The man surged forwards, clenched hands opening, grasping Yuuri’s face and dragging him into a desperate kiss, tongue, teeth, very little finesse. He could taste the other man’s desire, his desperation, felt his own answer. When he pressed his fingers into Vitya’s hips, lifting him and dragging him onto his lap, he was a little surprised by how light the other was, despite being obviously athletic.

He ignored it, ignored it in favour of how it felt to have him sitting on his lap, half-rubbing himself against Yuuri. He had a little more self-control, holding still except for a very deliberate thrust of his hips upwards, his erection rubbing against the man’s ass, a perfect mockery of what he desperately wanted.

Vitya moaned, loudly, shuddering. “Yuuri… Yuuri, won’t you have me, please?” “Can I have you, Vitya?” The other man crouched forwards, burying his face in Yuuri’s neck. He rubbed his arms up and down his sides, enjoying the feel of the body there.

“I’ve been yours since that night. All you ever had to do was come for me.” “I’d rather have you come for me.” He responded, before he could stop himself. They both froze for a second, then Vitya scrambled off him, tearing off his clothes while Yuuri slipped his own off too.

Since his clothes had no buttons, he finished first, sitting on the edge of the bed and watching the other man practically rip off his shirt. Then Vitya was back, back on him, pushing Yuuri down on the bed, blanketing his body with his own, their mouths pressed together in another kiss, a more controlled one, the passion no less sweet for it though.

Yuuri broke the kiss first, nuzzling against Vitya’s throat, the collar he’d sent. It looked stunning, the contrast, the black on white in the candle-light. “I’m going to fuck you until you can’t stand anymore.” Yuuri promised – he was fully intending on keeping that promise too.

* * *

 

The next morning, it seemed like Yuuri was the one who couldn’t walk. He awoke alone, disoriented, in the hotel room. The candles long since extinguished, his clothes folded on a dresser, a letter on top of them.

Yuuri’s legs felt like pudding as he stood and walked – he’d spent hours last night, fucking Vitya into the mattress, a fistful of his hair to yank his head back because as it turned out, the other man had a whole list of kinks and that one was a favourite for both of them.

He’d bitten, sucked, licked, nibbled, touched and caressed every inch of the other, or at least it seemed that way. He’d discovered his stamina wildly outlasted Vitya’s… and that somehow, that too. was a huge turn-on for him. Vitya’s recovery period was better than Yuuri’s had been when he had been a teenager… they had a lot of fun.

He was relatively certain that he’d be getting himself off to fantasies of their night together for the next few months, if not years of his life. He picked up the letter.

‘My dearest Yuuri,

Thank you for the second-best night of my life – the night we met still has the top spot, in my mind. I’m sorry I had to leave you before dawn, however I had business to attend to – feel free to order room-service if you’d like, everything is paid for. Hand your key in at reception and they will have a car ready for you.

I still struggle to believe that last night was real – it feels like it was some sort of erotic dream because surely so much pleasure at once is impossible? If you ever desire me again, I beg of you, tell me. I’ll move heaven and earth to be there, to have you again, even for an hour. That I got to have a whole night with you… I wonder what I should give you to show my gratitude?

Nothing seems enough.

Devotedly and forever yours,  
V’

Slowly, gingerly, he stepped into his clothes, his muscles aching, his dick sore – pleasantly so, of course.

“’If’ I desire him again?” He asked the empty room, well-aware that had they woken up together, he’d have ridden him into the bed again then and here. Instead, he glanced again at the empty room and pocketed the letter with a sigh – he had a stash, under his bed, and the latest one would join the growing pile.

‘If’…

* * *

 

Five days later, Yuuri was miserable and didn’t know what to do about it. He desperately wanted to see Vitya again, he really did… but more than that, he wanted to get to know the man. He wanted more than pricy gifts and spectacular sex, he wanted to know the man behind it all.

A day after he’d gone home, he’d received not a gift but simply an email, not from Vitya but from his landlord. Their rent, utilities and so on had been paid for. For the entire next year. Phichit had made so, so, so many jokes about Yuuri being a sex god, he’d seriously started to consider just moving into another place.

He’d felt a little dirty – he’d loved every second with Vitya, he hadn’t done it for some kind of reward, not even one worth over fifteen thousand dollars. He wasn’t a whore, never would be.

So, resolutely, he pulled out his phone and typed a text – short, a little angry and to the point.

‘I don’t ever want a ‘gift’ in exchange for sex again. I’m not your whore.’

The morning after, he received a thousand long-stemmed red roses. He wasn’t entirely sure Vitya had understood his point, but he felt a little better for the attempted apology. They donated the roses to several old people’s homes around the area, gave some to neighbours and still had to throw out a few hundred dollars’ worth of roses in the end.

Over the course of the next week, Yuuri got, first, three expensive suits, then at least a dozen shirts – the nice kind, the kind he could use his diamond cufflinks with, and finally, a riding crop.

For the first time since they met, there was no note accompanying the last one – he had a good idea why.

Yuuri gave as good as he got – slipping on the leather heels from before and taking a photo of the riding crop tapped against his ankle got him a return photo via text in less than an hour – a slightly awkward shot that still told him what he needed to know – Vitya in a bathroom stall, a hand firmly down his trousers, wrapped around himself, the other one taking the photo, the whole thing a little shaky.

It wasn’t elegant, it wasn’t graceful, but it was real – not to mention it was hot that Yuuri affected the beautiful man the way he apparently did.

Still, all that didn’t solve his overall problem – he wanted to get to know the person behind their strange… arrangement. Over the course of a few more weeks, that want grew into something more like need, the first thing he thought of when he woke, the last thing he thought of before going to sleep.

In the end, his best shot, he decided, was to see him in person again. An invitation wasn’t difficult to come up with – he arranged the crop, the heels and one of the suit-jackets on the white fur throw and attached it to a simple ‘I want you under me.’.

A car was there to pick him up less than an hour later.

Yuuri had dressed up for the occasion, wearing one of the suits, the cufflinks, his hair gelled back. In the car, after some hesitation, he changed his shoes as well – loafers made way for the heels he’d packed in a small bag. Like before, he was handed a key-card, though he found himself at a different hotel that night.

It didn’t matter, because as soon as he stepped into the penthouse suite, lit up only by the moon and stars shining through the mostly glass-panelled sides of the room, he found himself with a handful of Vitya – quite literally, the man jumped him and Yuuri found himself holding him up, strong legs wrapped around his hips, fingers digging into the silver-haired man’s thighs to keep him from falling.

They didn’t make it to the bed, collapsing instead on the couch. Vitya spent a long time on his knees there, one of Yuuri’s heels wedged between his thighs, Vitya’s mouth on his cock for most of it.

By the time either of them had the presence of mind to actually move to the bed, the night was half-gone and Yuuri was no closer to learning anything about Vitya as a person. He didn’t try particularly hard to be fair – at one point, Vitya bent himself over the back of the couch and begged Yuuri for the riding crop and then his dick, so Yuuri really didn’t have much choice in the matter… at least, that was his excuse when he woke up the next morning, alone in a cold bed, clothes folded and letter sitting on them.

He went straight for the letter.

‘My dearest Yuuri,

Once again, I find myself having to leave you before dawn, once again I won’t get to watch the way the sunrise would have no doubt illuminated your beautiful face. It breaks my heart to have to leave – I’m hoping, perhaps you’ll keep me around long enough that we reach a point where I won’t need to do that anymore? It’s my fondest wish.

You said I made you feel like a whore last time – I deeply regret that, for that was the last thing I wanted. I am but a fool desperate for everything you’re willing to give me. Trust me, nothing that I’ve given you means anything in the face of even one of your searing kisses.

Even now, the thought is enough to drive me half-mad with want.

Forever yours,  
V’

It was the first letter Yuuri entirely refused to show to Phichit.

* * *

 

Their next two encounters happened much the same way – Yuuri called, his intentions to get to know the man… and the second their eyes met in whatever mostly dark room they were in, Yuuri would be lost in the blue and they would fuck until he passed out… and he woke up alone. Every time, the letter waiting for him grew longer, the praise for Yuuri more descriptive, the promises that Vitya would do anything for him more explicit, more detailed.

It was driving him mad. Eventually, he decided to try a different approach. ‘Meet me for coffee?’ He sent, only to be kindly but firmly rejected. He tried again with dinner, then breakfast and dinner again, the same thing every time.

Another request for Vitya to kiss his shoes earned him a room-key for another half-dark penthouse suite and a lifetime’s worth of wank material because Vitya wore a dress that evening, for some reason. He looked breath-taking in it, right until Yuuri tore it off him.

Still, Yuuri wasn’t happy – he loved their time together, liked the gifts, but what he truly wanted, he wasn’t getting. A connection, between two men who obviously wanted each other beyond simple sex. He knew it was there, in the letters, their touches. Eventually, he had to face the truth – he couldn’t keep going without it, didn’t want to.

‘We need to talk. I don’t want to keep doing this if all you want is sex. I want to get to know you. I’m going to be waiting in my dance studio tomorrow night. Be there or this is over.’

It was the hardest text he’d ever sent, and it very nearly crushed his heart – coincidentally, that was when he realised his heart had gotten involved at all, because for what it was worth, Yuuri knew he could be a bit dense sometimes.

He received no reply, and when he stayed behind in the studio after classes, he half-expected Vitya not to show up at all. Stretching on the barre, he was surprised when out of nowhere, familiar arms drew him backwards, into a tight embrace.

“Stop! I didn’t ask you here for sex.” He hissed, trying to turn around. A low chuckle and those arms tightening was his only answer. “I know that. I just… if you turn around, this… will be over.”

“What?” “I mean, once you see me, here, like this, you won’t want me anymore. That… it scares me, Yuuri.” He allowed himself to relax a little – clearly, the other man wasn’t hiding because he didn’t care – not that his letters had given that impression anyway. He had a reason. Good.

“Why… why are you so sure? I’ve already seen every inch of you.” Warm lips pressed a kiss to his neck. “I know that, god, I know that. But… always in situations that I prepared. The light, the setting… Like this… you’ll learn something you won’t like. Please, Yuuri, please don’t. I can’t lose you.”

He swallowed thickly, suddenly desperate to give in – he didn’t want to lose Vitya either, despite the mystery. He trailed his fingers over the other man’s arm soothingly. Vitya was a little shorter than him, his shoulders a tad wider. He was perfect.

Yuuri needed more than what they had.

Slowly, gingerly, he loosened the other man’s arms from around himself and turned, his heart nearly beating out of his chest as he did so.

* * *

 

For a few moments, he didn’t understand – he faced the same eyes he knew, a startling blue… swimming with tears, for the first time since he’d met him. It made them even more beautiful, if such a thing was even possible.

The realisation settled in a little later. He stepped back when the whole of Vitya’s face finally registered properly. Vitya was…

He was…

“How old ARE you?” He asked, desperately hoping he was wrong. The pained expression in his face said he was not. “I’m turning seventeen on Christmas Day.” He took another step back, well-aware that Vitya was crying even harder now, tears spilling freely.

It was September – months away from… his seventeenth birthday.

“You… I… you… I… with a child?” He felt dangerously close to a panic attack, something he hadn’t felt in many, many years, not since his anxiety had died down in his late teens.

“The age of consent in Russia-” Vitya began and Yuuri waved him off. “Is irrelevant! We aren’t IN Russia! I could… I could go to PRISON for this! Be stamped a sex offender for LIFE. This… how could you?”

Anger and fear were warring pure disgust in his mind – he could barely comprehend what he was seeing. He’d never expected something like that – a wedding ring on the other, maybe an unsavoury job, or some secret, but nothing like that.

Another step back earned him a choked sob, Vitya looking smaller than ever before. He’d had him on his knees, begging, but he’d never looked… small before. Yuuri cursed softly, his own memories suddenly so… tainted.

“I did it… I did it because I fell in love with you, that night. We had so much… fun. It was the first time… the first time I felt anything in a really long time. I wanted more of it.”

He listened in mute horror. “I’ve… I’ve been in love with you since you stumbled over to me, drunk out of your mind and asked me to dance with you, Yuuri. Then… then you came with me and I got brave. I reached out… and you reached back.”

He shuddered. “That night… did we… did we have sex?” Vitya flinched violently. “You don’t remember?” “No. Most of the night is… blacked out.” The other man sobbed louder. “N-No, we didn’t. I wanted to, so, so much. You were telling me about all those filthy things you wanted to do to me, and I wanted them so, so, so badly. Then… you said you needed to go home, so I got you a cab.”

Vitya broke off, another sob choking him. Yuuri had to fight the physical urge to hug him, to comfort him. “You said all I could have was a fantasy and a few kisses… and I couldn’t… I needed more than that. It was never supposed to go past that. A gift, maybe two, and then I’d stop.”

“Why didn’t you stop, then?” Yuuri felt a little sick. “Because! Because… I realised that I was in love with you. I can’t just… shake that off, not like that.” “You think you love me.” Yuuri said, his voice almost too quiet to hear – Vitya heard him anyway.

“I know I do.”

“You’re a child, you don’t know anything.” With that, without even giving him another chance to respond, Yuuri did one of the most cowardly things he’d ever done in his life – he ran.

Home, all the way home, he ran, not even realising he’d done so in his dancing shoes, ruining them entirely.

* * *

 

He refused to tell Phichit anything other than that it was over, that Vitya wasn’t who he thought he was. It was the truth, technically speaking. He’d thought the other was his own age, or at least close to it… not over a decade younger. No, not that.

When a letter arrived a week exactly after their encounter, Yuuri had to fight the urge to throw it out the window. The foolish part of him, the part that loved Vitya, Vitya the MAN not the CHILD that had lied to him, made him keep the letter.

He read it three days later, sobbing like a little girl from the moment he opened the envelope.

‘My beloved Yuuri,

I hope you will actually read this, though if you never do, I can’t fault you either. I owe you an explanation, an apology… and I know that neither will make a difference. I’ll offer you both anyway, yours to take or reject as you see fit.

I’m 16 years old and I’m a figure skater. A very good one – the youngest world champ, youngest Olympian gold medallist and so on. I’ve been skating since I was a child and the only thing it got me was money – plenty of it, too much. Over the years, it also made me… empty inside.

Until I met you. You say I don’t know what love is because of my age? You’re wrong. I accept that you want nothing to do with me now, and for all that it’s breaking my heart, I will abide by your wishes… but know this – no matter what, I’ll be waiting for you to come back to me someday.

Months, years, decades, I don’t care. I went about this all wrong, should have never done what I did but I was so, so weak, so desperate for more of this wonderful man that I fell in love with, the man that keeps surprising me so much. I’ll forever regret that my deception hurt you, but I will keep hope that one day you might want me again, maybe enough to come see me at one of my competitions. I’ll never skate for anyone but you, Yuuri Katsuki.

I wish you the best and I love you,  
V’

Yuuri’s tears smudged the ink on the paper and he dimly realised that unlike the others, that letter was hand-written, the penmanship anything but neat.

* * *

 

A better man would have gotten rid of it all, every single reminder of Vitya. A better man wouldn’t have opened the whiskey and drunk over half the bottle while crying in his own apartment alone.

A good man wouldn’t keep reading the letters, wouldn’t look and notice the many things that Yuuri had missed the first time – the way Vitya referred to him in his letters, made his devotion obvious from the start, Yuuri simply not paying enough attention to notice.

A good man wouldn’t have looked him up online – it was easy, so, so easy. Yuuri only learned Vitya’s full name after he got his heart broken – Victor Nikiforov. A good man would have left it there, maybe – would NOT have gone on to watch every single one of his skating videos on the Internet.

Even just a decent man would have… stopped all of that, at some point. He wasn’t sure exactly when he realised that he wasn’t so much as a decent man – perhaps after a year or three? He watched, every performance, every skate. It hurt, all of it.

Yuuri watched when Victor appeared to a performance, his beautiful hair cut short, shocking the world. He watched in disbelief as he broke just about every record in skating, then broke his own records a few more times. He became a veritable expert in figure skating, actually, just by watching him skate so much.

Five years later, Yuuri was in his mid-thirties, Victor had just turned 21, and Yuuri admitted to himself what he’d known since he had been 28 – he was in love with Victor, and it wasn’t going away. The man had tricked him, lied to him by omission, put him into countless situations that could have sent him to prison if ANYONE found out, had made him hate himself for doing those things to a mere child… but Yuuri couldn’t shake him, not from his heart, not from his memories.

He had fallen in love with Vitya when he’d thought he was an adult. It was a pathetic excuse, but it was also the truth, and it was one that burned on his tongue every day, wanting to be screamed to the world. He did not. Life moved on, Yuuri did not.

Phichit, his best friend since college, had been… supportive when he’d learned of Victor’s deception. He’d been even more supportive when Yuuri eventually found the courage to admit his own feelings too. It had taken him a long time to tell him at all, out of fear and shame.

His family…well, they were accepting enough of the fact that it was a man he loved, supportive in knowing it hadn’t ended well. He didn’t tell them more than that, didn’t want to burden them.

Yuuri tried everything, to get over Victor. Dated other people, men and women. Meditated. Read books, visited a seminar on broken hearts. Nothing worked, the feelings in his heart mocking him every step of the way.

Five years and four world championship wins on Victor’s part after their split later, Yuuri did something so idiotic even the ever-accepting Phichit would smack him over the head for it – had he known about it. Yuuri didn’t breathe a word to his friend, to anyone.

It wasn’t a long drive, to Skate America from his home in, Detroit. Sure, it was all the way across the country in Washington and took him the better part of a day but… Victor would be at the event, and Yuuri needed to see him, needed to know what would happen if he saw him again.

Buying a last minute ticket to Victor’s event cost him more money than he had spent on a single thing in a long time, but his seat was close to the rink and there was nothing in his life he’d rather waste money on anyway.

Yuuri’s heart was soaring when he went to his allocated seat a mere few hours – a lifetime – later. Half a dozen skaters came before Victor. He didn’t bother watching even a single of them properly. There was no point, they didn’t matter.

He waited, with bated breath, to see Victor in person again, after all that time. It was everything he’d hoped for – he’d seen, of course, in videos, the growth spurt he’d had at age 18. He knew Victor was taller, looked a lot more mature. He’d filled out, his androgynous appearance had given way to something more masculine.

Yuuri knew all that. Still, it didn’t prepare him for the reality of it, the reality of seeing a taller, no less beautiful Victor skate a circle on the ice, then another, before taking his position to start his routine.

* * *

 

Watching Victor skate was like magic. He’d watched his Olympic gold performance a thousand times – the one dedicated to HIM, the one that had been rewarded with a medal he kept on HIS nightstand. A mark in the history books, and Victor had outright dedicated it to him.

He wasn’t worthy of that – the kind of man that let himself fall for a child even unknowingly wasn’t worth anything. A middle-aged man still in love years later was even more pathetic.

No doubt, Victor had moved on a long time ago, had realised that what he thought love was, was… nothing. Obsession, a crush, a fancy. His fingers were still clutching his ticket though. He had never really considered going to any of the dozen, maybe hundreds of competitions that Victor had skated at over the years – he never felt he had the right. He still didn’t, but his desire to see the other man had ultimately won out.

Before him, Victor finished his short performance, face relaxed, bored even – he didn’t look like he’d done anything important, not even when it was announced he’d beaten his own world record for the second time, improving his all-time best score.

He was back the next day to watch the free skate, watched the same thing at the medal ceremony. A bored face, just enough of a smile to please his fans. Yuuri knew though, what Victor looked like happy, even if it was in a dark room rather than under a spotlight. He knew he’d see the same thing at the exhibition skate too… and he knew that that was his only chance to do something, anything.

The realisation rang startlingly clear in his mind, the courage for it easy to find.

Yuuri wasn’t one for gestures, never had been. Gestures put him… out there, and he didn’t like that, never had. He didn’t think twice about standing up the moment before Victor took position to skate his program though, not even when the lady next to him gave him a weird look. He didn’t have to think about taking a deep breath and yelling “Vitya!” at the man he loved either... it simply happened.

By all rights, Victor shouldn’t have heard him, shouldn’t have noticed him, not with so much else going on, so much noise, so many people watching, talking, clapping. His head snapped around anyway, homing in on him in a heartbeat, ice blue meeting hazel across the rink.

Victor’s face showed no particular reaction, but the shock was clear in his eyes.

It felt glorious, to look into those eyes again, even over distance. The reaction Victor eventually gave wasn’t a very big one – a small smile slipped onto his face. Really, it was more than Yuuri could have hoped for.

The exhibition skate, everyone agreed later, was different. Unique. Victor always skated well, but the experts agreed – he hadn’t skated like THAT since his first Olympics. Foolish as he was, Yuuri hoped that it might mean something, even if it was just that Victor hadn’t grown to hate him.

He went home without seeing Victor. He wouldn’t have known how to go about it, really – he had a ticket, not access to the competitor’s area, and Victor was quite literally the star of the event.

Driving home, he took a longer route than on the way there, spent the night in a little BnB. His heart hadn’t felt so light in years – he didn’t love Victor any less for having seen him, but instead of shackling him down, he felt like his feelings were actually raising him up this time… Yuuri had the power to put a smile on Victor’s face – what more could a guy like Yuuri really hope for? Even that much was a miracle.

When he came home, there was a package waiting for him with his neighbour, a lovely older lady that was usually home and happily chatted to him about her cat and her grandson. He thanked her and opened it in his flat, trepidation warring with anticipation within him, hope crushed down fiercely because it COULDN’T be…

Except when he cut the tape open, the package revealed a ridiculously pricy bottle of whiskey and Yuuri didn't even try to stop his tears from flowing.


End file.
